


The Silver Crescents Book 1: Through The Twilight

by ThievesofThieves



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls Online, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aldmeri Dominion, Altmer - Freeform, Daedra, Elder Scrolls Lore, F/M, Forests, Gen, Multi, Trees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-25 03:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13825902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThievesofThieves/pseuds/ThievesofThieves
Summary: Her parents are heroes of the Oblivion Crisis. Her brothers lead a guild of noble criminals bent on ending the purge of Valenwood's culture. This is Leila Lockharte's rebellion. It's a path that she chose herself; a way that brings her closer to her mother's legend and further from her father's agenda. This is the path only a Raven takes. And it will lead her through the twilight.





	1. Chapter 1

**The Silver Crescents Book One**

**Through the Twilight**

Chapter 1: The Raven’s Induction To The Night

How did I reach so far in this life? How did someone of my wild, explosive nature survive all the adventures and encounters with death that peppered along my one hundred years? How was I so lucky to have met the people that I have met—people who touched my heart, and shaped my soul?

My life has always had twists and turns that mirrored the vast forests of Valenwood. It may have been a life forged by the Divines above, or a beaten path written with my own two feet. A long series of events constructed the product you see before you. And so, I stay humbled, because the life I live is indeed a life to be thankful for, even with the twist and turns that fate has thrown at me.

The gods created all mortals, though our destinies may differ, there is no deficit in value between us. I was born a Bosmer elf, a wood elf. In the vast forest that is Valenwood, to some, it's a dangerous and sometimes savage place, but I'm not sure they would understand such a beautiful and intricate country. This is what the divines willed, and so it is.

My name is Leila Lockharte.

You may know me as the Guild Master of the Riften Thieves’ Guild. Some of you hate me, some of you are frightened by my name, some may even wish for my death, but there are others; those of whom I hold dear to my heart; those who know me for the mortal I am, and those of whom I strive every day to protect. I think about them every waking second of my life. Their faces and the memories that we shared flash endlessly through my mind like the running water eternal canal. Without them, this path of life would be meaningless. And without them, I would not be here today. So, I walk down a path that normal people would deem dark and uninviting, only those who walked with me at my side can truly understand where this path leads, or what kind of destiny we could find. There's not one other person that can understand the path that leads us through the twilight to a destiny that lay in the darkest regions of the Mundus and of the void.

It wasn't always easy for me. For I have been on many paths in my life until I realized I had to forge my own. There were times I felt as if I should deter from this destiny, but my friends and family had always pulled me back. These times were harsh; these moments were perilous. In my eyes, it was my first life before the divines gave me a second chance to do it the right way, but I will never forget everyone from back then and the lessons I learned, and the people I've lost...

Back there in Valenwood, a different country than Skyrim, a different Thieves’ Guild than the one in Riften. A different love and a different family. How could I forget them? How could I not remember everything that we've been through, the lessons they all taught me? How could I forget him? His smile, his courage, and his love, I could always remember Elren--the mortal I loved in the first half of my life. Even with all the pain, all the heartache, it was perfect, there was nothing about it that I would change, nothing at all.

But I tell you this story because people need to know that if one life ends, it does not mean all is lost. I can hope that you will learn from my words that I speak, and the story I tell about the life of a thief and a life before Skyrim.

I stood with my feet planted firmly on the ground and body angled towards my target. An arrow fitted to my bowstring, drawn and ready, quivering against my cheek as the foliage several yards ahead of me stirred to life. My target wasn’t a massive animal, but it was tough. For other children my age, it would be a semi-difficult kill, but I wasn’t a normal girl. I was raised differently, diligently... harshly. An easy kill, or rather, it should’ve been. But the most laborious task became difficult with _him_ looking. And it always happened just like this.

The spring breeze only left a slight tug on the enormous trees making them rustle but not dance. The weather was with me today. The calmest time of the year and the best time to sharpen my skills while hunting. Although these small attempts my father tried at training me were subpar compared to my tutor, the Ancestors be the glory that my time with my tutor was over and done with, but it was far better than being out here with my father. He was critical of my every mistake, even after years of honing my skill since I was only five years old.

My brothers were close behind to play as Father’s second and third pair of eyes. Though they didn’t like our father much either, they were still his favorites, so it seemed.

Far ahead, the cries of a dying animal echoed through the brush, reaching my ears. My target found some prey which meant it stopped. The groveling rage and hissing told the tale of a fight, but not a very good one. All animals seemed to be predators in Valenwood’s forests, some better than others. The creature reared its head in an effort to swallow its freshly earned food. Saliva and the blood of whatever poor animal fell victim to the beast oozed from its mouth in a pink foamy ichor, wetting its jaws and dripping sloppily to the dirt. It’s too bad it had to die now and never enjoy another dead meal again. I had to kill it. Not just for training but because it was an ugly creature wanted for hunting in nearby villages, murdering children in their sleep and preying on livestock. With one swift arrow, I'll end its life shortly.

'Take the shot, Leila.' Milkar, my eldest brother, placed his hand on my shoulder. A sound resembling a sigh escaped from Father's mouth. I hadn’t the nerve to look back.

A simple show of affection from my brothers would agitate the man. After all my feats in the years that he threw me at another elf’s feet, he still believed I need to be stronger, more skilled. Any parent would want to have their children grow into able adults, especially on Tamriel where death waits at every corner, but there was no love to his ambition, only a desire to forge me into something I never wanted to become in the first place. That man did not care for me the way a father should care for his child.

A high-pitched song of death played as my arrow ripped through the air. It buried its head deep into the creature's neck. The beast now revealed to be a basilisk—scaly, crawling monsters that plague local the undergrowth of local villages—let out an airy hiss towards me, already moving towards it; my brothers who were trailing behind; and my father, who was standing on a ridge overlooking the process. The pressure immediately fell from my shoulders, something I had been taught to deal with under my tutor some years ago.

Aranwen snickered as he usually did. Sure, I was proud. But I shouldn’t have been. This was too simple a kill, too close proximity. My record is beyond anything anyone has seen with others my age—Children, if you could call me a child. I wouldn’t; I’m barely a child. Usually, I would buckle under the pressure of trying to impress my father, a feat in of its self. Glancing towards Father earned me a stark stare. There was no apparent reaction. Honestly, he looked at everyone like that. What exactly did I expect? It’s never going to be enough for him. Nothing I do or have done. I gritted my teeth, holding back the fire forming on my tongue. 'Did you see that father? An easy target, the villagers will be pay happily.’

'It was an easy target,' he said, turning his back to me, cloak flailing. 'How could you be proud of that, when you can do so much better? _She_ was able to hit that same target at the top of a mountain at your age.'

‘I’m not... I thought—'

'No one would be able to hit that as far as Mother could, Father.' Milkar interjected. 'She killed the beast, shot it directly in its weak neck. She has proven her training with Rollyn has paid off. Let us call it a day, pack it up, and head home...Shall we?' Milkar eyed my father with his brilliant, gleaming glare.

Father walked off. Not another word was spoken, not even the acknowledgment of the dead beast. Worthlessness wasn’t the word I would use; it would be _guilt_ that fit the bill. Guiltiness for killing a woman that I never got the chance to meet. Mother died giving birth to me, and so he figured it was of my own doing that undid her... And people say, “when an elf woman can have a third child it's a symbol of luck.” What a load of torrid sheep's piss. Gaining my father's respect is just a distant dream I don't believe I will ever achieve. All because of the circumstances in which I was born. “No tears for the strong, especially not in front of an enemy,” my old bastard of a tutor used to say. It hurts, even more, wiping away the one tear falling down my cheek. These hunting trips were a colossal waste of my time. Father will never get it, and I was beginning not to care. Maybe someday, I will start to do things my way. I will make him acknowledge me... One way or another.

My brothers lived their lives in Father’s praise. Both were tall, strong, and shared the innate skill to shoot an arrow further and more accurate any other Bosmer. Milkar was the eldest of us. A true-born leader...because those exist. I loved him because he looked out for me on many occasions such as this. But he lived in a class of thinking and skill all on his own. To be that good at everything must be lonely. I related to him the most.

We all looked the same to be truthful. Put the painted portraits the Lockharte siblings as younglings and you couldn’t discern a difference. My siblings and I shared the same emerald eyes our mother was known for having. Father gave us our burnished hair with honey streaks flowing through it.

‘Old men and their condemning criticism,’ I said, fitting my bow to my back. ‘One day, Father. One day.’ A promise for the ages.

My brothers shared glances. 'Leila, Father is a difficult soul.’ Milkar said.

'It’s been two months since Tutor Rollyn gave me back to him, and he has yet to recognize my skill.'

Milkar sighed. 'It isn't that Father doesn't acknowledge you, Leila, give it time, and I'm sure he will express his pride for you.'

I scoffed. 'When the moons crash to Nirn! He hates me! Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. He just scolds me for my shortcomings!' We walked along the forest floor; wildlife scattered as we beat a path through the scrub.

'Don't you worry your little head about Father. He's just an arrogant—' Aranwen started, humorously.

'I think what Aranwen wants to say is that Father just has a different way of showing affection. We all had to experience this, little sister. You weren’t the only one.' Milkar stated. ‘Also. Aranwen is joking. Obviously, he knows Father’s ears are as sharp as a wolf’s.’

Aranwen chuckled. 'Oh, a wolf's, you say?'

Milkar didn’t reply further. Since I was able to create memories, my father has always acted as if he hated me. Nothing I did was right for his praise. There were never any stories of how harsh Father was on Milkar and Aranwen when they were my age. Perhaps they shared the sentiment of resentment. Their accounts of Mother were that she was a beautiful maiden and one of the fiercest warriors in Valenwood. She had eyes as green as two sharply cut emeralds that could twinkle in any light. It’s where my brothers and I got our eye color. Her skill with the bow was unmatched. Mother led the legendary Circle of Seven to the Oblivion gates and held back a horde of Daedra, saving Valenwood from the brunt of their forces. Father was also one of the legendary Seven that saved our province more than a century ago during Oblivion Crisis.

It isn’t my lack of ability that bothers him, no, it’s because I am not Ara of the Ghost Bow. I am not my Mother, and I will never be her. I would only dream to be half as skilled as her. Half the hero.

We emerged onto the road with our carriage awaiting us. The forest hid our little expedition as it hides all things. Mysterious, vast, and dangerous—Valenwood is an untamed world that would eat you up and spit you out with no remorse. But it was my home.

Father had taken his seat, his eyes scanning the deep, thick forest as if there was something hidden behind the veil of green, his chiseled chin pressed down onto his hand with his elbow braced against the edge.

'Are you done so soon, my Lord?' Wendell asked.

'It could have been much sooner.' My father told his Steward.

'All the better to get back to work, milord.' The old Bosmer smoothed wrinkles from his leather tunic with a gloved hand.

'I’d have a few words with that bastard Rollyn about her training,' My father stated. 'There isn’t any reason she can’t excel in the Ranger Guard, but in order for that to happen, she needs to be trained _correctly_.'

Ten years under Rollyn’s tutelage and this man believed _I_ wasn’t trained correctly. Ten years of blood, sweat, and tears only to come back and be told I wasn’t good enough. I was five when I left home. Too young to have fought with blade and bow and grown into my potential. I mastered my bow at eight and took down children five years my senior with a knife at that age. And yet, in his eyes my training was inadequate?

‘I...’ I began to protest.

Father narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Take us home, Wendell. I have important matters to attend to.’

Wendell shot me a sympathetic glance and gave the horse’s reins a snap 'As you wish, milord.'

The carriage jerked into motion, and the horses cantered down the cobblestone road. Every bump and groove smashed, it was hard to restrain me from using the momentum and throttling my father. It wasn’t the wisest of my ideas, because if Mother was the best warrior of the Oblivion Crisis one hundred and forty years ago, then Father was her second.

 The slander was heavy, but it was something I’ve learned to live with since young. That was Father, and this is what he thought of me. Nothing more than a nuisance. Perhaps if I showed even half that potential and ability Mother carried in one fingertip, he might not be so critical of my faults.

The employment of Rollyn, a legendary weapon’s master, to teach me everything that I needed to know to become like Mother was just another ploy of his. I trained for nine years of my life, missed my entire childhood only for him to say that I wasn’t good enough. It’s all his fault. All his. It’ll take everything I have to live with Father again. Even in the months in my returned, I wanted to leave again. Just face the forest surrounding my home and take off like nothing ever mattered.

An hour of traversing the routes through the Grahtwood wilderness, we finally reached my house. My Father’s estate was one of the largest in the region. In fact, being heroes of the Oblivion Crisis, Mother and Father were favorited by the people and by the Silvenar. Their privileges stretched far and wide. Our home showed just how better treated we were. The manor was built on the base of a tree. It was squat but covered enough space for more than three families could live within. It’s branched stretched far up, twisting, and snaking towards the blue sky. No other trees grew around it. Some say that a battle was fought here between my Mother and a powerful Daedra a hundred and forty years ago and this tree was the only thing left standing. A quaint little story if you asked me. The manor walls were just the tree’s bark, sporting large bulges and tags that grew in with the tree.

We lived on the outskirts of Elden Root, Valenwood’s capital city. A grand place to live for any Bosmer. It was the metropolitan area for the province and the capital for the entire Aldmeri Dominion. Not that I like the Altmer that set up their base here because I genuinely hated them. Better yet, my dear old Father is the ambassador that connects Valenwood to the Aldmeri Dominion. He sits at the Silvenar’s side, pretends to be the best of friends with him so that the Countreeve can get her rule across. At least that’s how Tutor Rollyn explained it.

‘Two hours on the range. Your brothers will accompany you. Perhaps they could show you how to hit a target truly.’ Father stepped off the carriage, his cloak whipping.

Mother made great use of the land that Valenwood had gifted her for destroying the army of Daedra that threatened our forest. Besides the large snugpod, Mother built a field of targets to harness her children’s latent potential. Her children being Milkar and Aranwen, she died before she could even bond with me or tell me that I was going to be special like every Mother is supposed to.

A crowd of Dominion advisers stood at the entrance to our home. They awaited my Father. Nothing but blues, golds, and reds draped the Thalmor agents, surrounded by the brass, eagle-ornate moonstone forged armor. I could look on at him with nothing but disdain for him and his Altmer friends. These elves were supposed to be our saviors, or so they said. I didn’t believe it. They were incompetent with everything else. And rumors were spreading fast about their dealings with the Khajiit of Elswyr.

'As Ambassador for the new regime, Father fits perfectly for the role,' Aranwen said. There was absolute  _awe_  in his voice.

'Do not fret over Father's position of power, brother. It's because he has a strong connection with the Dominion that he received such a job.' Milkar informed him.

I considered my brothers for a moment. Milkar my oldest brother was a full hand taller than Aranwen and several hands taller than me. His back was broad as he was wise, and his build said everything it had to about his strength. Aranwen was the younger image of Father, but these to have several opposite personality traits from each other that it was laughable that they were related. Though the resemblance was there, Aranwen was always a joker. Milkar was serious, and his knowledge was far too long for an Elf his age.

Stretching down the grass plain and ending at the tree line, Mother’s field of targets was the largest in Valenwood. A half mile of rows upon rows of different targets that can hone the skill of an archer. It was paradise for the Bosmer. The best of the best come here to practice at the time, giving my Father wants for impressing his friends a great indulgence.

As a young girl, before being dragged off by that insufferable Rollyn, I couldn’t even attempt at hitting the first few targets.

‘The last one,’ I said, thumbing the distance.

Milkar tightened the straps on his gauntlets and looked up incredulously. ‘The last?’ He grabbed the length of his hair and tied it into a single knot, his emerald eyes shining with amusement.

Milkar pulled his bow from his back. A grand thing, forged by the same hand and the same style as mine. Our bows were the Lockharte clan’s heirlooms. A curved thing made from the bark of an Iron-Bark tree that was now extinct since the Oblivion Crisis. The Iron-Bark that came from the tree had these magical properties that allowed it to absorb magicka without being enchanted. I took my own into my hands. The bark was as hard and powerful as iron, but lighter than a bow made of oak bow or willow.

‘Confidence,’ my brother started, ‘is what makes or brakes a warrior. Because if you don’t have confidence, you will most certain hesitate in a fight and _that_ can kill you.’ A common-sense lesson that should always be repeated, no matter how many times you’ve already heard it.

Milkar pulled an arrow from his quiver and met arrow to nock. He aimed far; the arrow ruled perfect with his chiseled jawline, his muscled arms rippled with striations. ‘I’m not the best archer in Valenwood. And I will never be.’ He released the arrow.

It flew true and without conflict. Slice through the air of resistance like nothing else. It ate the distance between it and the target in a mere bat of the eye and burrowed its head dead center in the furthest target. A simple board strapped to the protruding root of a tree.

Such power and accuracy displayed were typical of Milkar; his skill had to be many tiers above mine. Never had I been so envious of my brother.

‘I don’t remember this field being so easy to beat.' I said in astonishment. The hours of practice as a little girl was beaten by a single elf and a single arrow from his bow.

Milkar grin stretched right back to his ears. 'I wanted to show just what we are capable of, Leila. And you have so much more skill than what you believe you have. I was capable these feats for all my life, but...' He paused. 'Potential is an odd thing; you see it can blossom all at once in a mortal. For a child to realize their potential early is a blessing and a curse.'

'What do you mean?'

'A child that has realized his full potential is considered a prodigy, but average as an adult. It is not always good to rush into such potential. You must cultivate it, hone it, let it flourish over a lifetime. That is how the greatest warriors are found and molded. You have the greater potential than any Lockharte that has ever lived.'

'How do you know?' I asked. ‘I can’t even receive praise from Father.’

‘That’s because Father isn’t comparing you to the average,’ Aranwen chimed. ‘He’s comparing you to the Mer of his world, don’t you know? Aranwen sat back with a chuckle. ‘The warriors that come from Father’s world aren’t like you, Milkar, and me. They’re from a different tier entirely. I don’t blame him for expecting so much of us, honestly. If you’d have met Mother, you would understand.’

Milkar nodded. ‘It may have been quite a long time ago, but I remember Mother. I remember her before you filled her belly. She was amazing. Her brilliance sometimes outshined us. We fought for her attention. But we were young.’

‘How young?’

‘I was around your age the year you came around. We spent every day watching Mother train with warriors from all around Tamriel. Swords, bows, knives, lancers, it didn’t matter. She was always the best. The only person that was second to her was that man,’ Milkar nodded towards the house, ‘Father was apart of the Circle of Seven and Mother was their leader.’

I pulled an arrow from my own quiver and set it to my bowstring. Taking the stance was as easy as breathing to me. Years and years of repeating the motion made it like walking.

Milkar brought his face leveled with my drawn hand. His sharp eyes analyzed my stance. I could hold this for hours upon hours. He tested me for flaws in my stance, giving me the slightest of tugs and shoves. Years I have been doing this. I gulped in. I was too young, too much the amateur to try this shot, but now was the time to prove to myself that I have improved despite what my Father says.

Milkar tapped his skull. ‘Right there. Let it free.’

He would probably deny it, but Milkar was closest to Mother's prowess. Even after only seeing him sporadically during my training ventures with Tutor Rollyn, I knew that he was in a tier far above Aranwen and me. By the way, he thought, how he handled his weapons training, and how he interacted with the world. He was a genius on all accounts. There were no doubts about it.

Amused admiration waved over me. Repeatedly this elf had proven to be the savior of my heart. The net that catches me from falling into the void of despair. He was my brother, but I wished he was my father. He was like a poster child of the Bosmeris warrior. A Mer to bring cheer to my heart.

Milkar the strong and stern, a natural leader. The brother whom I wanted to be like, and Aranwen the carefree and fun-loving child. Those were my brothers. Those were the two mortals that the divines have blessed me with.

My focus sharpened, everything around my peripherals blurred away and my target sharpened in my vision. I felt as if I was the arrow, a force of death and speed. I was its god, a synchronized connection between Archer and weapon. We often fool ourselves into thinking that to have power, we must believe ourselves to be better than those who don’t. The simple answer is that we are not better than anyone else. But In our mind’s eye, we are something we are not on the outside.

'Focus...' Milkar whispered, his voice became atmospheric, a smoky afterthought that circled around my focus but not cutting into it. I let the worries of life go and slipped into a colorless void where only I and my bow existed.

Where did I want to go? Where was my destination? Drawing my hand back, I heard the strain on the bow; I felt the quivering vibrations between my fingers. My eyes opened, and a drawn breath slowly released as if my soul had attached itself to the arrow.

I fired.

My bowstring reverberated a quick, metallic, and cold  _twang_  as the arrow freed itself from my grip, traveling like a single lightning strike across grazing lands; a single herald of death that seemed to move increasingly slow as my heart began to speed. It flew far, and it flew true, passing the target my brother struck earlier, and into the tree line. And just as the target struck by Milkar's arrow had burst at the seams, so did mine. The feathered fletching shook violently, then halted to a complete perpetual stop. It was the perfect shot.

Aranwen chuckled. 'Bull's-eye...'

Milkar grinned and took a step forward.

I lowered my bow, my heart pounded in my chest 'It hit...' I turned to my brothers. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t hit targets farther than that. It wasn’t as if it was hard, but when I was younger, hitting that target was only something of a dream. To see my progress was nothing short of astonishment.

'You see Leila,' Milkar began, 'if there is anyone who can surpass Mother, with all of her glory, it’ll be you.' Milkar pressed his finger to my chest.

Aranwen folded his arms and nodded. 'Just believe in yourself, and there isn't anything you can't do.'

A sudden but quiet wind of change flowed over me. An urge to question the beliefs and ambitions that have been painting me for so long. Maybe a new strand of arrogance sudden grew from my mind, I cannot say for sure what it was, but I wanted to be seen different than I was now. To surpass mother—that was something that everyone I ever got the pleasure to meet had said. To surpass my dear mother who was a woman that was known for her feats. The words of my Father surely brought me down, and at times I felt like that suppressing what I could truly commit to. Maybe what Milkar had said was true about the curses and blessings of potential.

But that was an adventure for me to discover on my own.

Milkar, Aranwen, and I fired arrows at targets for hours before they left me. I kept going. A new wind of confidence overcame me. The day became night. The sun retreated behind the horizon bringing twilight with the twin moons. The forest became submerged with the bioluminescent light of the Forest God, Y’ffre’s, blood. Green, yellow, pink, and blue hues illuminated the darkness of the night.

To the north, the Elden Tree stood protruding out into the sky, like a hand of Y'ffre trying to pluck the glittering spectacles of light in a dark sea of black. The forest has this harmonious gift of wonder to it. As if the Divines came down and knew exactly was they were doing when they made the trees, the plants, and the animals. When they made the trees as numerous as the stars above, I often wondered if I could not solve the world’s problems on a similar basis of harmony. Treat everyone as if they were heroes in their own right. Like stars wrapped in the night sky or trees with Y’ffre’s Light.

Tangible images of the world molested my mind. Normality was never an option for me. They seldom are for the gifted children. It’s a curse, I’d say because you’ve got all those terrible possibilities.

It was a wonder that came about every so often. Soon after I left home, _family_ became a strange word to me. My mother was gone, brothers nowhere to be found, and my father; someone who paid too much attention to the wrong things and not the right things. Only the gods knew how much I desired him to look upon me with appraise and rejoice.

Did I love my father? A hard question to answer, but I did love him just as my brothers loved him. I would even go far as to say that I admired him. All I ever wanted was his approval. But now—as ashamed I am to admit—that want for his love was quickly dwindling.

“ _She’ll be just like Ara when she comes of age!_ ” They said. “ _Her prowess will show in due time, though Ara was better than her at that age!_ ” The same conversation being repeated over and over.

They continued to shape me to the likeness of my Mother. Gave up when they saw I didn’t have it in me. Father kept on, had me fire arrows until my fingers bled. He left me at the feet of Rollyn, told him to deal with me. I have no destiny of my own—only what my father thrust on to me. If becoming Mother isn’t my purpose, then what was?

 To me, the world was empty and lonely—a void that was ready for filling. But with what? I could ponder it day and day out, but what would become of it? How can I surpass what I am now? An empty shell of nothing, unable to become like Mother.

It is often said that the secret to happiness is freedom and the secret to freedom is courage.

I need that courage. What will give it to me?

My last arrow spent, I looked down at my hands. How tough they’ve grown is a testament to how hard I tried to achieve a goal that wasn’t mine. It was a surreal feeling at that moment with my brother’s words resounding in my mind. I could be more; I should be more. I had to push on, carve my own way. Mother will always be the shining goal at the end of the path, but I didn’t have to follow such a fate that was created by Father or anyone else. I will create my own.

I reached out with my beaten hands, trying to grab onto something that seemed so far away. The stars in the night sky, the trees on the edge of Mother’s field, the gargantuan Graht-Oaks that dotted the forests, it didn’t matter. I wanted something; I wanted it to be all. But I didn’t want it the way everyone else wanted. Defy. Defy. Defy them all. To exist on my own terms, that is my goal.

A raven gawked at me from a nearby target, an onyx thing the size of my head. It glared back at me with its black eyes, deep as the void.

‘Why would you want to visit me?’ I asked it. ‘A girl without her own destiny?’

I turned away towards Father’s manor. Spring-Garden couldn’t have seemed farther.

‘ _Is it hard to have your own destiny? Can’t you find your own_?’ It was my mind, but I entertained the thought that someone cared.

I turned back towards the blackbird; it’s attention still to me as if it truly did ask those questions. ‘Because I don’t know anything else. I wouldn’t want to.’

‘ _Shadows grow long in the twilight; they overtake their owners. You’re like a shadow. Become like me._ ’ I watched the bird flitter around. It bit on something, something bright and twinkling.

‘What do you have to offer?’

I walked towards the thing. It acknowledged me with a shift of its head. Its sleek feathers shone a deep, inky darkness. ‘ _Paths aren’t forged on their own; no one can make you a path for you. Walk. Walk and never look back on this place._ ’

It was like a call of the wind. It raced past me, through me, it took me in an embrace. I felt it flow into my leather garbs, fill me with thoughts that hadn’t occurred to me before. The raven opened its mouth and dropped a twinkling, green stone. An emerald, bright in Y’ffre’s bioluminescence. ‘What?’

‘ _Leave, Leila._ ’

Leave. Leave. Leave. The winds came again stronger than strong. It forced me to move, take a step. A flurry, a whirl, or a spirt, whatever it had been, it was strong. Like an urge, a longing deep in my heart. Fourteen years old and I won’t be told, I can’t be told. My hands wrapped around the gem. I felt its edges; life was like an emerald. It’s green and beautiful until you twirl it around in your hands and eventually find an edge to cut yourself.

And so, I took a step. A slow one at first, but it was a step.

‘ _Don’t follow the path.’_ An emerald-eyed ghost crossed the tree line and disappeared. ‘ _Blaze the trail._ ’ The raven flapped into the air and flew into the woods.

I followed.

I walked at a slow pace at first, descending the first hill and reaching the first of the targets. Droves of splattered arrows permeated the ground and the wooden structures. Most buried to the shaft, the dead of imaginary enemies. Others were broken, shattered, failed shots. It was the same mid-way across the field, but this time my slow pace had picked up into a stride. My feet wrapped in padded footwraps brushed the soft grass, feeling the grains of dirt slip in and out of my toes. At the end of Mother's field and the start of the tree line, I sprang into a light jog.

The forests of Valenwood are different from any other in Tamriel. Its luminescent glow that each plant and animal emitted during the night was green, indigo, or pink hue that mystified Nirn. The Bosmer called it Y’ffre’s Light. Some shone as brightly as stars, some only carried dull hues.

The buzzing of insects, the howling cries of the night's nocturnal denizens whisked into my ears. My light jog had evolved into a full-blown sprint. The trees and the brush becoming a blur to my peripherals but clawing at my skin all at once. Something has drawn breath into my soul, clenched it in a tight grasp, and whispered softly into my ears. It was an urge to run, an urge to do more. To seek freedom within the night, to search for some sort of salvation in the shadows. I felt that I had to be somewhere, but where? Not here, not back at my home. But... somewhere beyond Father’s hand—beyond Mother’s shadow.

I noticed beams of moonlight shooting through the trial of hundreds of feet of trees. The lucky pillars of the Divines that made it to the forest floor. And so, running as fast as my legs could carry me, I looked up to the stars and the black sky. The twin moons, Masser and Secunda, shining bright their supple light. There I felt it, a presence unlike any other.

It could have been merely exhilaration that drove its hooked grip on my mind. But I'd put a fat coin purse on the exhaustive task of creating another Ara of the Ghost Bow. Expectations of my skills and being _her_ daughter. I let it carry me through towering trees and through the thicket that separated my home from the world.

I flew with the raven that night; I didn't care where it would take me, so as long as where ever I landed, I could find my true destiny. This was my sign, my aspirations becoming something tangible.

_You are here; you are you. You are Leila Lockharte and no one else. The path you will forge will be yours alone; it will be your choice. You will see the world as you wish it. No one can take that away from you. It is power you seek, power to change the world around you, stop the chaos. Destroy anything and anyone in your way. Her power can be yours, but there isn’t anyone that can lead you to it besides you. Remember this: you are like a raven, you are free to fly in the blackness of the night. You are not someone’s shadow; you are **the** shadow._

Reality returned to me like a heavy weight upon my shoulders. But even so, I felt...free in an odd way. Like suddenly, I didn’t need Father’s approval. There wasn’t need to become like Mother. There was just me and a void that I needed to fill.

The trees thinned, and I managed to break out onto a road. Sleepless even at night, the road stretched down into the city of Elden Root. Dirt and moss-covered cobblestone webbing through the outskirts of forest and city. The calamity of urban life, crawling about in a mass of bodies and transports. Even in the night, Elden Root never ceased to run. High above, the Elden Tree towered. It loomed over Nirn, like a Divine of nature ready to soak the sun and shield the denizens below. Its roots stretched out like twisting roads driving into the ground and exiting, like a thread patching a godly wound on the world. Elden Root was one of many Graht-Oaks that littered Valenwood. Our trees were large, but Graht-Oaks were mountainous, holding entire cities to its bark and districts crossing its powerful boughs. Apart from the Elden Root’s districts, the lower city that sprawled out from the tree's base. It was as if the tree had vomited out the large buildings and structures across a long stretch of land that reached out for miles in all directions.

Elden Root had always been my home. The lay of the land started out as supple farmland, trees planted in rows upon rows which fed the city’s citizens. Then the urbanicity hits you. All sorts of people lived here. Mer, Wood Orc, humans, and creature-folk come here from all around the Tamriel.

Elden Root was a nocturnal creature. Guards and Dominion soldiers patrolled the streets on the lookout for the next unruly traveler or citizen that stepped out of line, merchants called out their wares in a scrambled song of loud, obnoxious voices, and the rattle of city sounds burst into my ears from every corner.

No one gave any thought to a child only fourteen summers old. Children in the city were a common sight. Dirty urchins begged street merchants, more well-off children followed their parents, never missing a step behind them. Elden Root’s massive root walls segregated its districts like gates usually made of stone. I followed the whirr towards the markets, a place where I spent time before.

A greying Bosmer overlooking his stall caught my eye especially. His eyes were a stark green, and wrinkles flowed in waves from the corners of his eyes and lips. A large cloth covered cart was parked at his back, and his stand displayed several types of bows and arrows—amazingly fletched ones at that. His eyes locked on to me and a wrinkled smirk grew on his lips. 'Well met, young one.' He said, looking down. He was almost three heads taller than me. But then again, I was a small child: strong, but small.

'You carve these on your own?' I asked, enthusiastically. If I was a dog, my tail would have been wagging with excitement. The man studied me for a moment before casting his eyes on my own bow. I tore it from my back, so he had a better view of the bow. 'A family heirloom, a gift from the Fighter's Guild. My brothers have one of their own. Only three in the entire world.'

'I've never seen Iron-Bark so expertly carved...' He gawked. 'And what's this? Your bowstring is made of Gleam blossom flax... how marvelous!' I knew my bow was impressive. This wasn’t a new reaction to my bow. The Iron-Bark wood was rare—seldom anyone ever crosses another wielding Iron-Bark any weapons.

Valenwood, almost everyone can appreciate a well-made and expensive bow. The man's smirk never left his face.

'None of yours can really compare...' I muttered disappointedly. I didn’t mean to speak the insult out loud, and he sure as Oblivion wasn't supposed to hear it. I shot him an apologetic glance, but he merely shrugged off the unintentional insult. When it came to bows and the fletching of arrows; when it came to weapons in general, I acquired the same taste as my tutor. I pressed my bow into his hands and took one of his. It _was_ very a well-made bow; its quality is  as good as those wielded by the Ranger Guard.

The crunch of leather itched my ears from behind, but I paid it no mind. 'What do you want for it?' He asked. I shook my head. To be truthful even if he offered me his entire cart worth of merchandise, I would not part with the thing. I've had it since I was able to wield a bow and draw a bowstring pass my cheek.

'Not for sale,' I stated. I pushed his simple bow back on its display and took my bow from him. 'Sorry—'

‘Fine. Run along now.' The old merchant resigned into the shadow of his cart. An air of apology escaped my breath, but I had managed to say nothing. He grimaced and turned to attend to his merchandise.

Iron-Bark weapons may have been some of the finest weapons made in all Tamriel. The wood is said to be as strong as Ebony. To part with my bow would be my folly. I turned from the fletcher’s stall only to catch a quick waft of air against my neck. It put a right chill down my spine, but it was quick, inconspicuous. I spun around to see him take it. Like a ghost in the night, a black shadow sweeping from corner to corner. In the blink of an eye he was gone, but in that sliver time, everything seemed to stop as if we both were caught in between two moments. The boy’s eyes locked with mine—big brown and inviting. There was the slightest hint of a smirk crossing his curved lips. A second later, I was staring at his back as he raced down the street. His hooded cloak flailed with the generated winds of speed.

I blinked once then I blinked twice. He was gone, vanished in the crowds of consumers scrambling the marketplace. It took quite some effort to pick my jaw up from the ground. An empty display case fell in the boy’s wake, pulling me from the shock of what had just transpired.

 ‘Did you just—’ I turned to the merchant who cast a sharp green eye down on me.

‘What?’

‘That boy...He just stole from—‘

‘Did you just steal from me girl?’ The merchant’s wrinkles began to fold in on each other.

'What? No! It was not me!' My cry seemed to fall deaf on his long gray furred ears.

‘Who could have stolen it? Where did you hide it?’ The merchant emerged from behind his stall cart. ‘Come here!’

I took two quick steps away from his reach, the desperate old elf growing too close for comfort. I pled with him, tried to tell him his mistake for blaming you. I could have dismissed his anger and left him to stew in it. But I have my pride too. I took another step back as he grew closer and backed into to something hard. The squeal of leather spun me around to meet a tall Bosmer clad in Ranger Guard armor. Great... A getaway from my Father only landed me in more trouble. It was more than what I wanted.

A light orb drifted over the street illuminated the Ranger Guard’s face to reveal a not so amused frown. ‘What seems to be the problem here?’

The merchant pointed an old crinkly finger at my face. ‘This little urchin stole from me!’

‘I didn’t!’ I argued.

‘Tell it to the Magistrate when he’s sentencing you to the dungeons!’

My mind began to race for a possible answer, a well enough excuse or plead to convey my innocence. The Ranger looked down at me impatiently but eager to take me away with him. The entire market began to crowd, casting accusatory glares and scowls. My mind began to swirl with it. The world refused to make sense anymore; my mind wasn’t working. Not the merchant, who only a moment ago was just admiring the carved work of my bow, the guard ignoring my side of the story, or the people closing in on me. That boy, he moved so swift and stole so fast that it seemed like a gust of air snatched it right off the shelves. That boy, whose eyes were a sad brown but with a grin of mischief. That boy who put me in this situation.

_That boy._

This was his doing, and he would be able to clear up the misunderstanding. Sweat beaded heavily on my forehead. That boy was gone, and there was no hope of him coming back.

The Ranger Guard warrior reached his hand for my collar. The Ranger Guard were Valenwood’s staunch warriors. They were highly skilled professionals that made up the army of Valenwood. Father and Mother were once apart of the Ranger Guard before they were viewed as heroes of the Oblivion Crisis. They weren’t a force anybody would want to trifle with.

I smacked the elf with the limb of my bow, sending him reeling back in surprise. I hardly managed any damage to the warrior, but I managed to startle him enough to make an escape. Ducking and hopping past hopeful citizens trying to play the good Samaritan, there was, but one thing on my mind: clearing my name before Father found out.

My feet pounded against dirt and stone, and the wails of bystanders resounded from behind. I knew I could outrun a warrior of the Ranger Guard, so I decided to bide my way in the nooks between buildings. Some alleyways left the world dark, but I didn’t let it stop me.

I could have ended it there by telling them who I was—whose daughter I was. But that would have meant the satisfaction my Father would have received by punishing me. Perhaps he would have sent me away again to train. I would run for miles to never have to see Tutor Rollyn again. Although, living with him on the road wasn’t as bad as living in lavish with my father. Any ill news that would cross my father’s ears would end in severe punishment. At least that’s what I believe. I couldn’t give him that win. And so, I ran. I ran as fast as I could.

They called after me, but there was no way in Oblivion I was going to stop. Of course not, I'd rather risk my freedom running then to sit there and give up the chance of escape. No... that boy will be found, and he will make things right. It wasn't much of a chore to shy my face away from the onlookers as past them. I was already several streets away before I decided to make an inconspicuous stroll towards the city’s exits. I kept caution about me. Recognition was not an option. Being the daughter of the legendary Faeden Lockharte, Ambassador of Valenwood and Ara High-Arrow of the Ghost Bow, anyone could say they have seen me here. The single giveaway was my eyes. My accursed eyes I shared with Mother.

Weaving through the crowds as swiftly as my body allowed me to at a brisk walk, I felt an electricity flow through me. Something different from the tug that brought me to the city, something exuberant. My hands were steady, my mind clear, and not the slightest of anger festering in me. But my skin prickled, and pins poked every inch of my body. My body was in a frenzy, something that I haven’t felt in a long time. It was as if a slave just realized her new-found freedom. My hand traced across my cheeks and my lips. I was smiling, giggling even. I was having fun.

The markets had been alive and well, but this part of Elden Root was dead. Full of deserted streets with so few stragglers unaware of my hair-raising getaway. There were so few sconces here that the shadows flowed in accordance to the flickering lights, they seemed like living tendrils looking to grab anyone from the light and drag into any dark corner of the city. There’s no underestimating the Ranger Guard here in Valenwood; the stories ran long of their hunts for criminals and enemies. But I knew how men and mer thought; I was trained that way. Sweat ran in rivulets down leather archery armor. Being smart about my escape, I stayed completely out of the light-orb sconces that floated around the city on some magical route. The shadows offered their safety to me. Not even wanderers saw me.

_You are the shadow._

I was completely invisible. My escape from the markets was swift enough, but I rejoiced the fact that it was Bosmer warriors the pursued me and not Dominion soldiers. If it had been the Thalmor in their gleaming gilded armor, I would already be dead before any questions were asked.

The world fell eerily silent. Fallen four-prong leaves crunched under my soles. I felt a rising worry building within my chest. All the excitement and exhilaration from earlier slowly fading into a cold, wary anguish. Every step meant more of my bravery diminishing. My conscience forced me to peek every corner and stare every half-lit street. My hope to find that boy was now foolish looking back on it. Just plain stupid to think that I'd be able to find him in such a large city. These streets were merely the outside of the great Graht-Oak, and the core of the city was inside the tree itself. Even the thought of searching for him seemed maddening to me now. I should cut my losses and flee back home now before anyone else finds me.

'Did I cause trouble for you?'

The voice slipped from the shadows like a snake slips from a branch. I spun on a Septim. The boy from earlier perched up on a smooth marbled stone as tall as a troll and as thick as a horse. The only providing light was the twin moons, and that caused a thick shadow to cast over the front of his body. But I recognized him easily enough. The dark, brooding cloak draped over his shoulders ending before his torso led to his legs. His head obscured, casting an even deeper shadow over his face. The fact that the boy wore leather armor completely tightened to his skin, almost acting as a second skin, was proof enough. He was a thief. And earlier couldn’t have been his first criminal act.

'It's you!' I hissed, moving a few paces towards him then stopped. I hadn't thought about how dangerous the boy could have been. Even if he was just a boy, no more than a summer older than I was. I clutched my bow in my tight fist. 'By Auriel, you've made trouble for me! You've got the guards searching as if I’m some criminal. I'm not even supposed to be out here, so if my Father finds out. I'm—I'm—'

'I’m sorry if I caused you trouble,' He repeated himself. His voice was soft and low, almost inaudible, but it was smooth and comforting. He hopped off his stone throne, allowing the moonlight she'd better light on the rest of his body. His brown leathers were like that of a Bosmer archer. Ancient and in tatters as it were, it still would allow him the mobility to move at such great speeds as he did earlier.

I stared at him incredulously. 'You have to clear my name.' I said, all the anger from earlier slowly dissipating. 'Look just tell them you did it.' The boy's eyebrow raised, and as he came nearer, my bow raised more. I let my hand find my quiver. He stopped his approached abruptly and threw his hands in the air. 'I don't know what you're about, so you'll just come with me, won't you?'

He frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. 'I won’t be able to do that,' He stated in a low, shy tone. My arrow nocked to my bow now, I pushed the tip to his chest, and he grimaced. Of course, I didn't want to kill him, either way, my father would have my head, but I wanted to see if he'd be frightened enough to do as I say. But he showed not even a flinch. He unhooded himself and spoke clearly. 'What's the point, we'll just both be jailed.'

My brow furrowed. He made sense, maybe too much sense, and I hadn't thought about that through my panic. Just as I lowered my bow and considered him for a moment, the loud clatter of guard armor ringed from down the road. Dominion soldiers. A whole platoon of them.

‘They’re for us?’

'They're for me, you root licker!' I snapped. My heart pounded heavily against my heart. Fear was an emotion I didn’t like to handle, even with the fire of excitement still coursing through my veins. 'They're going to jail me, and it's your fault.'

I caught a glimpse of the boy's eyes. Brown...they were that deep tawny color reminiscent of the human Imperials from the northern province. But that wasn't what kindled my curiosity. The fact that he was grinning and smiling through those brown eyes of his. With his hood on, anyone would mistake him for an Imperial, but now his pointed ears and slickened brown skin revealed he was also Bosmer. A half Bosmer half human.

'We aren't going to be caught.' He said. With an abrupt tug on my hand and his grin stretching further along his face, he pulled me deeper into the alley.

'We're running?' The clatter of armor grew closer, echoing on the bark-covered buildings.

For a moment he paused, looking back at me with a raised eyebrow. The twin moons still behind him, shining all their light on me. 'Your eyes.' He muttered.

'My eyes?'

He let out what I thought was a mixture of a snort and a chuckled. 'Now this is interesting.'


	2. A Shimmering Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leila and her new friend escape the Ranger Guard and the obstinate Dominion soldiers only to discover that they have some mutual associates.

Chapter 2: A Shimmering Shadow

‘Great, yes, I am the daughter of the ambassador. Yes. Yes. Can we get moving?’

He shook his head and chuckled at whatever amusement I did not understand. Thalmor soldiers and Ranger Guard chased us now, all wanting my head probably. Wanted as a thief now and escaping this looked pretty grim. There were times, during my years of training, that Rollyn put me in some rather dire situations, and I always found a way out of it, but there isn’t someone like Rollyn to bail me out now. No cleverly escape, no honeyed wit.

‘I know Milkar and Aranwen!’ The boy spared a dark glance back as we hustled down the back streets. ‘I’m going to take you to them.’

Ignoring the angry guards hot on our tail, I looked at him, eyes wide, but keeping my pace. ‘What? My brothers? You know them? How?’ The series of question came between glances back.

‘Do you trust me?’ He asked.

‘And why in Oblivion would I do that?’ He didn’t answer. Our interlocked hands didn’t help that argument. A heated flash crept along my neck as I let go of his grip. I didn’t stop running.

I stayed my tongue for the run. Our hearts thumped, and feet pumped. It wasn’t until we reached the ends of the city did our pursuers seem far enough. They say the best adventure start with some sort of incited event. There are times when you just know that it’s time to start something new and trust the magic of new beginnings. In any case, I _was_ having fun, even with the threat of imprisonment for theft.

We found ourselves under the rolling dome of the Elden Tree’s root. We remained on top of a hill overlooking the city’s districts like a blanket of shadow spread over a bed and thousands of dazzling lights peppered across the blackness. I collapsed into the grass, a dusting of glittering pollen plumed around me. The boy fell to his knees, heaving air into his lungs with long breaths.

‘How do you know my brothers?’ I asked, finally. The glow from the Elden Tree bathed the boy’s entire figure in a mad mix of phosphorescent hues.

‘We’re friends.’ The distance between the guards and us had widened far enough to strike the question.

‘Friends?’

‘Friends.’ He nodded.

The thing about my brothers is that I couldn’t have known what they were up to all hours of the day. There had been nights, since my return, where they would never come home until the day was old. Their excuse would be training, of course, when I often inquired about their dirty armor and tattered clothes, but thievery? That was something new to me. This boy claiming friendship with my brothers was a surprise. And not the right kind. I studied his face some more. That insufferable smile still painted on his face made me want to smack it right off him.

‘What’s your—’

‘Elren.’

I huffed. ‘They’ve never mentioned you before.’

‘Makes sense.’ He wasn’t even surprised at that, not even a flinch.

‘So, what now, Elren?’ I found it hard to keep the anger from my words, but my growing fear often evolves to anger quickly. ‘If we don’t move from here, the Ranger Guard will be all over us.’

‘Well.’ He looked around nervously. ‘You could go home and pretend we never met.’

I shoved him. ‘You don’t get to do that now! You tried to pin your little stunt on me earlier, and I won’t walk away from this until you confess to the Ranger Guard that it was you who stole that bow!’ I searched him with my eyes. ‘Where is it?’

‘Don’t have it,’ he said.

‘Well, where is it?’

‘I hid it,’ he answered as if it was some sort of genius move.

I spat. ‘By all that is the bones of Y’ffre!’

We sat on a grassy hill overlooking the city of Elden Root. Its roots branched out in all directions, digging into the ground, and creating these giant cysts of dirt upon the land. I’ve heard stories of far lands where a place like this would seem alien. It gave me an honest humility of the home I lived in. I loved Valenwood; I loved it with all my heart, and I would do anything to protect it. Perhaps Mother and I shared that much with each other—Father too—but we were just different people that needed to follow different paths. Which is why I found myself out here and in this situation. I tried to help my own way, now everyone will shun me.

‘Follow me,’ he beckoned.

‘How do I know you won’t drag me somewhere far off and slice me up for the tree-skeevers?’

‘I won’t.’

I stood and watched him ascend the hill. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Home. Shimmer Root.’

‘Are you not going to clear my name? They think I’m a thief!’

Elren scratched at his tawny, short hair. ‘Why would they? You’d make a bad thief.’

The pride of being calm through this entire ordeal quickly dissipated as my anger began bubbling to the surface. I took my bow in my hands and aimed an arrow right at the boy’s heart. He watched me with those big brown eyes. Elren’s grin faded, and I finally felt like I was going to win something over him. It even felt good to see the boy’s unyielding grin shy away. ‘Well come on,’ I said, keeping distance enough so the arrow would be an effective kill.

A soft breeze rushed between us, the half breed’s eyes twinkled in the low light. There was a simplicity to him, a sort of humbleness that put a quick calm to my mind. I’ve seen this province, from the peaks of the Dragon Teeth to the murky swamps of the Drowned Coast. But never have I ever seen a boy with so much mischief and the same amount of innocence. Just as fast as my anger came, it was gone in an instant upon looking into his eyes and down at his faded smile. It was like a drug, an intoxicating Folk Weed that made you come back for more. Perhaps it was the way his lips curled, his teeth shone, or how his eyes curved up when his innocence formed on his face.

He ignored my drawn arrow and offered his hand.

We were far from the Market District, far from the inner city. On the outskirts of Elden Root, the people were far and few. These were the Altmer neighborhoods, migrants from across the Blue Divide. But we were outside of the of the trouble that wanted to find us. If I knew anything about Valenwood’s enforcers, it was that we should not underestimate them.

‘I can’t go back,’ he said.

‘Why the dark Void not?’ He was pushing me.

‘Because your brother needs me.’ His soft voice had no hints of falsehood in it, no deception.

I sighed and dropped my stance. ‘Need you for what?’

Elren’s grin exploded into a full-blown smile. His lips cracked into a row of whites as his brown eyes weakened me at the knees. I avoided eye contact for just a moment, feeling as if he would melt me in my place. ‘Come. You’ll see. It’ll be a surprise for him.’

‘I—’ The words choked in my throat.

That damned smile of his.

There are some people in this world that you could figure out at a glance. Judging others by the way they moved, how they talked, and how they stood was a skill that was crucial in Valenwood. Some just conveyed the vibe of a snake that would bite you the moment you turn your back to them. But Elren, he was different. His body radiated trust, safety, and integrity. The simplicity of his mind gave it all away, but you wouldn’t find anyone more mischievous.

We pushed into the glowing brush. Every step of his stimulated the touch-sensitive moss carpeting the forest floor, sending out rings of green at every footstep. I followed Elren through the green, indigo, violet, and sometimes iridescent plant life. Elren carried the crux of confidence in his stride, traversing the thickness of the jungle with ease.

‘Leila,’ I blurted randomly.

‘That’s a nice name.’

Something that could be the beginning of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. ‘Thank you.’

‘Your brothers spoke a lot of about you,’ he said.

My brow furrowed. ‘So, you already knew my name?’

Elren chuckled guiltily. ‘Yes.’

‘Well, they never spoke a word about you.’

We walked on in silence, and I found that I kept close to Elren despite my earlier distrust of the boy. The solitary aura he gave off, the way he walked with his back straight, head held up, his confidence, and not to mention the grin. It all just made me feel courageous. I could take on Father even at that moment.

The route from Elden Root to wherever Elren was taking me seemed like it would take a while. Besides our shared adventure, the both of us really had nothing to talk about. Well, I did, but he spoke so few words, I thought he might have been thick-headed. But every few minutes he would glance back and share his smile with me which kept me following. Trust wasn’t a thing I gave out easily; my years with Tutor Rollyn taught me that, but there was something about him. But, like I said, Elren was a walking allusion: simplistic but complex, stupid but intelligent all in the same breath.

‘So, are both my brothers thieves as well?’ I asked his back.

‘Not thieves,’ he answered, ‘Milkar wouldn’t use that word.’

‘Bandits? Highwaymen? Oh, how about marauders, raiders, brigands?’

‘Rebels.’ The answer fell from his lips effortlessly.

Rebels; I let the word roll on my tongue. ‘That’s rich coming from you, thief. You stole from that bow merchant and ran away.’

Elren looked back at me and scratched the top of his head. ‘It’s complicated. Milkar can explain. You’ll see soon enough.’

An hour passed without any sign of anything, just more forest and more night. The excitement from earlier died down, and the lack of sleep began to get to me. An hour passed, and the magic of the night was almost spent. Any conversation was non-existent, and I had to sometimes call Elren’s name to see if the boy wasn’t just an illusion. He could be as quiet as a mouse or even quieter.

I wouldn’t have minded the stroll if there was something more to than monkeys swinging in the trees, wild Bush Horses, and Vortex Owls. Though, it gave me time to reflect on the beauty of my home. That wasn’t something I was wont to do. Most of my life I was told what to do and what to think, never enough time to think for myself. Only when I laid in my bed at night, or whatever I called a bed for that night, did I look up to the stars and reflect, or looked at the trees that made up the jungle and understand how privileged I was to live in such a land.

These forest that made up Valenwood were grand. Trees in other lands were mere sapling bushes compared to our youngest tree. And the Graht-Oaks, taller than tall, like gods among their children, reached for the skies in an endless trek upwards. A single Graht-Oak can house over a hundred Bosmer at a time. It’s why we built our cities upon their largest. Elden Root can still be seen through the trees’ canopies from here. Its awe covered in the lights of a hundred thousand luminescent flora. A tree from anywhere else was like a blade of grass to a giant.

We passed through a cloud of hungry insects, and the underbrush began to thin a bit. Only we weren’t out of the forest just yet, merely stepping into the shadow—or light—of something truly mesmerizing. Graht-Oaks deep in the jungles were common, only the ones as large as the Elden Tree and Falinesti in the north were extremely rare. What we had before us wasn’t citywide but village-wide at the very least. I took a few steps forward past Elren, gawking at the sheer beauty of the tree. Besides its vastness, the tree was a complete spectacle. Its branches glowed a pulsing white, with its leaves strobing the usual green hue softly. Small petals rained gently down to the ground, beautiful things that shined like tiny stars as they fell in droves. I held my hand out to one flittering gently down on my palm, but just as soon as it felt my touch the petal burned away in a colorful death.

‘Shimmer Root?’

Elren nodded. ‘We stay inside.’

‘Inside!’ I snapped. ‘In this thing?’

‘Come.’ He grabbed my hand again.

I swallowed hard and let him pull me willingly. The Graht-Oak’s roots lifted the base of the tree far from the ground, making it able to fit a multistoried tower underneath it. Its width had to be village-wide, a small village at least. You’d think something like this would have a broad shadow, hiding anything that lived around or under it in darkness, but no. The light of flora that grew beneath chased away the darkness. Large mushrooms grew to the size of goliaths dwarfing Elren and me. The bottom of the tree opened like a massive spiral stairwell, leading up to the innards. Even the bridge into the damned thing can hold a hundred men shoulder to shoulder. We ascended into it, like entering a world within a world.

My first impression was that it was arboraceous, like the rest of Valenwood. The strong tinge of pine fumes left a sweetness on the tongue. Nodes of dried sap littered the ground like clots of dried blood on an undressed wound. There was enough room in this single Graht-Oak to build a living, thriving community with enough room to spare. The tree yawned a breath of dusty air from its massive cavity.

‘Milkar is in there?’ I asked Elren who kept ascending the tree.

‘And Aranwen. This is our hidden sanctuary. It’s where we planned our next job.’

‘Job?’

Elren grinned.

When the ground leveled, and we were walking through the cavernous innards of a sparkling Graht-Oak, the events of the night finally became too surreal. It was as if the gears in my head started churning. What in the Void was I doing here? What, in the last hour, changed? It was already well past the moon’s height, and the night was already long

Finally, we ended the journey at the edge of a large, amber node. A floor carved and chipped away tirelessly into a sturdy foundation to build on. I looked ahead, my curiosity focused like a moonbeam. A border of sconces, all mismatched, surrounded the platform, each filled with hardened amber nodes emitting enough light to reveal a significant depression. The dwelling looked ancient but still sturdy. We quickly entered through stair in the center of the stone platform.

A single hall stretched for a field’s length. And by the furthest wall sat my brothers.

The hall was filled with all the right amenities needed for living. An area to cook stood on the behind the stair, living quarters opposite there. My brothers sat in what looked an area for entertainment: a twisted compilation of flat roots used as a table outstretched before him, a fire burning adjacent. I watched him for a time before taking another step. He looked deep in thought, studying a sketching of lines over papyrus. Aranwen crouched with his back to me, on his haunches, thighs to calves. He stoked the growing fire. Decorations of mismatched armor and weapons hung from the sweet smelling walls, nodules of sap illuminated the space.

‘Welcome to Shimmer Root.’ Elren pushed past me and started for Milkar. The initial shock of being here didn’t subside until Elren was already halfway across the chamber.

When I began the walk towards Milkar, I took slow strides. ‘Milkar.’ It came out just a mumble, a whisper only heard by the creaking insects.

Milkar stood over the table with the papyrus scroll uncurled open, pinned in its place with knives on opposite ends. His focus was absolute. A new light danced about my brother.

Aranwen was the first to notice me, his earlier preoccupation put on pause with the sight of me heading towards our older brother. ‘What in the divine’s essence are you doing here?’

‘I couldn’t tell you...’ I looked at Elren. ‘I—’

‘Leila?’ Milkar finally looked up the scroll. ‘Leila, what are you doing here?’

‘I...’ The words became lost to me, then like a river breaking freedom of its dam, the words exploded from my mouth. ‘I was training at Mother’s field when I decided that I didn’t want to do the same monotonous thing every day. I wanted to find the strength for Father’s respect my own way. I don’t know. I saw this bird. I saw that it could do whatever it wanted. There was this emerald. I just took it as a sign. But I just ran. I wanted to forget everything, so I ran just so I felt like I was the leader of my own path and that no one else controlled what I did in life. I ran and ran and ran until I reached Elden Root. I wanted to be sure that I controlled my actions alone and not Father, not our dead Mother, and certainly not by the people who judged me every day for what I couldn’t accomplish. I hate it, Milkar! You don’t understand because you and Aranwen there are so talented, I don’t see why Father wants me to be so strong, what can I do? I don’t want to join the Ranger Guard, I want to find the strength and protect Valenwood my own way! I don’t want any of it! So, I found Elren,’ I squinted at the boy, ‘no, he stole from a bow merchant, they just blamed me, so I ran some more until I ran into Elren again, but he said he recognized my eyes and that he knew both you and Aranwen! So, with nothing else to do but be captured, I escaped with him. He said you would explain to me why he knew you, and why were you hanging around the likes of him,’ I pointed at Elren, ‘he has a nice smile but he’s too damn difficult to figure out. Is he a good guy or is he a thief that wants to rob me blind?’

The outburst left me panting and heaving for breath. Milkar just stared into my eyes, not an expression on his face—not even a wrinkle to gauge his reaction by.

Milkar glanced at Elren. He curled away at the look and pretended to stoke the fire. ‘What happened?’

‘It's true what she said,’ Elren said. ‘Snagged a bow from the old Fletcher.’

‘See?’ I silently thanked Elren.

‘That doesn’t explain why she’s here.’

Milkar’s dismissal of me put a cold punch in my gut.

I took a step back. ‘Is it not a good thing that I’m here, brother?’ A deep awareness brushed over me. The number of weapons and armor, my brother, being armed to the teeth, it all didn’t make sense to me. This place felt like a war room.

Milkar’s face softened at that. ‘No. It isn’t. But you are safe here, Leila. Not welcome, but safe.’

‘I... I’m sorry. I—’

Milkar ran a hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t want you to find out about it this way.’ He took a knife from the table. ‘You’re a strong girl, but you wouldn’t understand.’

‘Wouldn’t understand?’ I inquired. ‘That you’re...you’re some type of thief? Criminal? Of course, I wouldn’t understand!’

Milkar cocked his head to the side. ‘I found this place about two years ago, Leila. Shimmer Root, she’s called,’ he said, gesturing to the large, cavernous chamber. It was better to call it a grove. These Graht-Oaks carried worlds of their own inside of their bellies.

‘Why,’ I began, ‘Why did you need such a place? What are you hiding from? What are you keeping a secret?’ It was many questions that asked one thing, but I thought he’d be able to give me a better enough answer for them all.

Milkar let out a long, exasperated sigh, leaning back onto the table. Staring into those emerald eyes, we shared. ‘I have a vision,’ He said simply. ‘This province, Valenwood, is plagued by a disease and I want to become its cure.’

Valenwood wasn’t a place devoid of evil, but I never thought that I would hear those words come from my brother’s mouth. He twirled the dagger in his hands in a skillful display, contemplating his next words.

‘Excuse me if I sound a tad bit suspicious, but how do you plan to be its cure?’ I asked, incredulously.

‘Crime, corruption, the evils of Men, Mer, and Beastfolk... I’ll bring all of it to its knees. Happenings are going on, Leila. Things that you wouldn’t understand.’

‘Humor me.’

Milkar smiled softly and shook his head. ‘I often try so hard not to underestimate you. You’re going to go so far, Leila.’ His smile dissipated on a face of resoluteness. ‘Our current goal is to work against these forces and drive them out of Valenwood once and for all. By doing that, we need to keep them away from Mother’s power.’

‘Mother’s power? You mean the Ghost Bow?’

‘The _Ghost Flame_.’ Milkar nodded. ‘The shape of a bow was one of many utilizations of the spell.’

I shook my head, trying to find some way to make sense of these revelations. ‘Well, okay. Why not allow the Ranger Guard or the Dominion to handle this? Why do you have to?’

Finally, Aranwen came to the conversation and placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Leila, we all know how much trust can be put in the Dominion and the people they control. Milkar and I would have joined the Ranger Guard in the first place, just like Father asked of us.’ Aranwen smirked with a grimace. ‘Something he’s still bitter about, but something happened, we can’t go around trusting anybody.’

‘What about—’

‘We’re Ara’s children, Leila. You, Aranwen and I are something that doesn’t come around often. We are capable of anything.’

‘I still don’t get it!’ I cried. ‘All of this sneaking around. What for? If you’re trying to be heroes, then why do you need to sneak around in this Graht-Oak tree at night? How are you going to cure Valenwood or whatever?

‘Take a seat.’ Milkar nodded towards stones laid to make a stone pew. I did so while Milkar sat in front, eyes full of resolve. ‘It isn’t easy to tell you this, Leila. I know Rollyn has taught you to fight and kill if need be. He honed your skills enough so that when you take the initiation test into the Ranger Guard, you will pass with flying colors. In the time you were gone, you learned about the world; its blessings and its beauties—all of it.’

He stood up tall. ‘But what I’m about to tell you will change your views on your brother and me.’

‘I want to create an organization to regulate this crime and corruption. I will be at the forefront of it, and I will sit on a throne and rule Valenwood’s underground.’

Words began to bubble on my tongue, but with no way to express them but to let the question pile in my mind, I stood there in silence. The silence was never a cure for shock, merely a byproduct of someone lost in translation. Without asking of anything about thrones and possible madness, I decided to challenge his logic. ‘You mean _end_ crime, brother. How could you regulate by being a leader of crime?’

Milkar rustled my hair like he’s done many times before despite my protest. ‘Getting rid of Valenwood’s criminal population is impossible, Leila. For anywhere it is impossible. The mortals in charge will always look to the next mercenary, thief, or assassin.’

‘You plan to be a sword for hire? Is that it?’

‘No, Leila. I plan to end the tyranny without being paid to kill anyone, but there are others who would be against me, I don’t intend to back down from them. The Aldmeri Dominion and others want to rape Valenwood of its identity, its culture, I won’t let them.’

‘What about you, Aranwen. Do you share this “vision”?’

Aranwen sighed and nodded slowly. ‘I opened my eyes to what was happening in the shadows. I know it’s not of me. I’d rather sit around in taverns and tell jokes, make people laugh, and swoon women. But I can’t let the injustice occur, not while I’m alive.’

I nodded towards Elren. ‘What’s his story?’

‘It’s a good thing you’re still seated, Leila. The things you’re about to hear will not hold over well.

My brothers called it the night of tears.

Circa one year ago, Milkar said. It rained because it often rains here in Valenwood, but the essence of evil mixed with that rain. One year ago, the climax of something that my brothers had been pursuing since the night I was born had unfolded in the shadows.

Milkar can fight. As a matter of fact, he was one of the best fighters I’ve seen besides Tutor Rollyn and Father. So, to hear him enter a situation where death was a possibility didn’t surprise me one bit.

“Arrogance,” Tutor Rollyn once said, “can be a weapon and folly. So as long as you feed it to your confidence and let it shield you from hesitation when fighting mortals that could kill you in a beat of a heart.”

Perhaps it was arrogance that led Milkar that night or my brother’s resolve or both.

The Aldmeri Dominion deemed the Green clans of Valenwood a nuisance to their regime. A plan to eradicate all wild Bosmer following the Greenpact was put into play by the King of Alinor and his generals. No one knew about this—not father and his friend, the Silvenar.

The Tam’Akar, the best the Thalmor had to offer were committing crimes under our noses. They were an elite unit of Inquisitors that were tasked with the gruesome deed of purging my people. They killed thousands of my brethren, one clan after the other. Milkar decided against going into detail of that night, but what he told me was that Elren was a part of a tribe targeted by these Tam’Akar. He’s been with them ever since, living here in Shimmer Root.

‘I had no idea,’ I said as Milkar finished.

‘Course you didn’t, Leila, but it’s not something you needed to be concerned about.’ Milkar stood to his feet. ‘But luckily few do know, and they’re doing something about it.’

‘There is? Who?’

‘That will be answered in due time, my sister.’ Milkar moved over towards his table, pressing his hands on the papyrus. ‘What you have to ask yourself is what do _you_ want to do about it?’

‘Join the Ranger Guard, fulfill Father’s wishes under his iron fist, or follow a path you forge on your own?’ Aranwen stepped towards me. ‘Whatever it is, we will respect it.’

‘I’m supposed to be the one that would take my Mother destiny, continue it until the Divines find me fit to join them. It’s been my path since I was only five.’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what I want, but I know that whatever Father has in store for me, he needs to cram it where Aetherius can’t see.’

Aranwen chuckled.

‘Mother embodied all that was light here in Valenwood,’ I said. ‘To know that my childhood was taken from me because I am to be the prodigy that takes her place in the light? No! I don’t want to live like that! I don’t want to be someone that people look up to in parades, have statues carved in my likeness; I don’t want any of it!’

My eyesight began to blur, but I blinked away the tears that threatened to roll down my cheeks. ‘I want to protect my home and my people, that I know for sure. But I want to do it _my_ way.’

At that moment, it felt as if I met my brother’s eyes truly for the first time. His emerald pupils were like two flecks shining behind cracked doors pouring green moonlight. I stood up tall, back straightened with thick resolve. This night, I have felt more alive than in the fight pits, than in the thickness of the jungle’s wilderness, than anything I’ve ever felt before. Whatever exhilaration overcame me, it was intoxicating.

‘Teach me,’ I said.

Milkar’s eyebrow went up at that. 

‘Teach me everything you know.’


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3: Campfire_

‘Rollyn taught you how to fight, how to survive, and how to think for yourself. I can conclude you’re a capable warrior, can’t I?’

My brother judged me by the look I wore and turned his gaze back towards the road. A torrential downpour beat down on the shady roof of the forest, sounding of a million armored men charging into battle. Water pooled high above our heads and fell in gradual waterfalls across the vast roof. The brightness of Y’ffre’s Light dazzled the water falling towards the forest floor like falling streams of twinkling starlight. We stood in the shelter of a falling archaic bough, long enough to build a street over. If you wanted to spy on the ground, the tree’s branches were too high up; it’s best you find yourself a root. Any would suffice. Only occasionally you’ll find yourself lucky enough to find a branch that has fallen from the tower-tall trees.

Thunder pounded in the skies above, the blast of noise coming down throughout the forest like a beating drum.

It’s been two months since the start of a new life; a new destiny in the making for myself, led by own two feet.

The cart moved at a slow pace, dozens of them. An entire caravan of ingenuous Khajiit goading down a single road through the thick, unforgiving jungle. Down there somewhere my target awaited me.

We’ve trailing them for the better part of two days, skulking in the shadows, high above the trees. The Khajiit folk were a crafty people. Their formations left no blind spots to commence on with the job. My training was true, and Milkar said I’ve shown more promise than he ever did when it came to thievery.

This was all apart of his grand plan. “The cure of Valenwood,” he called it. I entrusted myself to his training. And by the divines, I was good at it. Learning was about taking one fact and weighing it against what you already know. Sometimes it meant completely emptying your mind of anything you’ve already learned just to relearn it.

‘Take this.’ He handed me a short dagger the size of two hands.

‘What for?’

‘You see the tall Khajiit? The armored ones with the big swords?’

I nodded. And sure enough, the Suthay-Raht were formidable. They wielded swords that were heavier than me and twice my size.

‘They’ll cleave you in two if need be,’ Milkar said. He pulled his cloak closer about him. ‘You can resign if you want.’

‘No,’ I told him. ‘I want to do this.’

Milkar nodded in approval. ‘The Khajiit are known for their superior smell, hearing, and sight in the darkness. The only reason we haven’t been caught as of yet is that the storm persisted for so long. We strike once camp is made.’

I watched the caravan snake along the trail. Iron-armored Suthay-Rahts were as intimidating as you’d think. That and the fact they road upon their Pahmar-Raht and Senche brethren. I took a deep breath. I trained for several years in all manner of combat from the age of five. I’ve been tested and tried in every aspect of survival and been in more than one encounter of death. This was but another test to my metal.

It seems as if my life has always been about tests.

Finally, the caravan came to a halt. The Khajiit pitched their tents under cover of protruding roots and the large underbrush. The cloaks made my target hard to pinpoint, but when I finally got to see who it was, it put a stop in my heart. Not who my target was, but by who protected him. ‘Are you feckin’ kidding me?’

Milkar hopped onto a lower root-wall, moving like a ghost against the shadow.

Fires burst to life below. An offense against the forest, but with the Dominion in charge, the laws that made our culture rich here in Valenwood slowly dwindled away from Altmerish bureaucracy. The Khajiit scrambled until they completed their camp.

Thunder roared in the skies above, coming down through the trees like a muffled beat.

‘Are you ready?’ Milkar asked.

‘Yes,’ I lied. I couldn’t say it was fear the gripped me. I didn’t do fear, never had. I wanted the high this job would provide me, but it was remorse that would stay my hands.

I hopped down onto the forest floor some distance away. The shadows masked me in its dark veil, the storm provided the mist from the Khajiit’s keen eyes, and the rain masked my scent. I prayed to the gods that the Beastfolk would stay to their dance and song long enough to complete my task. I clung to the darkness, a silhouette against the bioluminescence of Y’ffre’s Light.

My timing had to be accurate. What did Milkar say about sneaking? A natural swiftness of movements, to be unseen within the seen. Passed the outskirts, I pushed in closer keeping my eyes peeled and ears twitching. Boots and feet sloshed in the mud; Khajiit sang the tunes of their people and danced the exotic motions only found in their jungles and deserts.

_Take your time. Move slow, but with hustle._ I could hear Milkar’s words in my mind as if he whispered them in my ear beside me.

Each root I rounded yielded another group of Khajiit, their moon sugar induced culture making it easier to sneak by them. Finally, I approached the tent holding my target within. All clear so far. I whipped out my dagger and cut away at the tattered cloth. A single candle illuminated the space, and I’d hoped _he_ was elsewhere, because if _he_ were here, then I’d be dead.

My target laid on a low straw cot, sleeping away. I let a small breath of air escape from me. The slow beat of moisture against the tent told an exaggerated tale of the storm outside, yet the Bosmer before me laid sound asleep. A dark robe and grey cloak hung from the tent lining above him. I withdrew a small rag and a vial from my pockets and soaked the rag with its contents.

‘Have happy dreams,’ I said placing the damp rag over the mer’s face.

Making quick haste, I quickly dug into the pockets of his robes and brandished a small book.

I think it was then when the anxiety became full-blown panic. The fire came in a roar of heat and blinding light, blowing away everything in its wake. The Khajiit’s songs became cries for help. The flame vacuumed the entire dwelling into its belly, burning away anything that shielded me from being caught. I looked up to see everywhere else in the same condition. Giant fireballs rained in from the unknown, crashing to the ground and blanketing the dirt and life with flame and char. Nothing could withstand its power.

I felt the sudden _whoosh_ of someone behind me, and arms wrapped me in an embrace.

‘Quiet,’ Milkar whispered and dragged me back behind a root wall. The fires still fell.

The jingle and jostle of Khajiit warriors resounded around the camp. Fireballs blasted from the shadow and across the camp smacked into the warriors, instantly turning them into heaps of char.

The ensuing chaos continued to unfold, and no answers were found in Milkar eyes. A Khajiit Suthay-Raht stopped his run and tilted his head to where Milkar and I hid. His eyes were lost in confusion. For the beat of a second, he opened his mouth to say something, and I reached for my dagger. Before he could form the first word, a fireball took him away.

I gasped, turning my head to Milkar’s chest because I couldn’t fight off the fear. ‘We should go,’ I said. ‘We should go now.’

‘We can’t,’ Milkar replied, the frantic in his eyes.

‘Why the void not?’

‘Stay silent, sister,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’ He nodded towards the center of the camp.

Amongst the burning and dying stood a hooded mer. There was no mistaken those robes anywhere. That ornate trim and folded, double-breasted style gave it all away. The Thalmor agents of the Aldmeri Dominion showed no remorse, but this was a different kind of horror. The Altmer that stood so calm amidst the chaos was no ordinary Thalmor agent. His robes didn’t brandish the usual brass eagle, but instead the head of a dragon crowned by the sun, and they were blacker than black.

As the fires danced around his silhouette, licking but not biting, he stepped forward. A nasty looking sword in his right hand. I knew that metal—blacker than night but for the red hue pulsating like an evil heart. It’s said that the Daedra used a twisted form of metal that is alien to Tamriel. Thousands of years ago before the first empires of men or mer, mortals replicated this metal to harness its powerful attributes. By taking ebony forged in the hottest fires and cooling it in fresh blood, you can recreate Daedric weapons. You should not reckon with the Thalmor, it could spell your death.

The Thalmor agent glanced around the camp, searching for something or someone. Perhaps it was the man I’d been looking for earlier. The Altmer’s yellow eyes gleamed through the veiled darkness of his hood. The fire spell swirling his left hand vanished, leaving the camp broken and clambering.

A Khajiit guard, probably the bravest of them, charged the agent. He lifted his great sword high above his head and brought it down on the Altmer. It wasn’t enough. The Mer merely deflected the Beastfolk’s attack as if it were child’s play. Frozen in shock, the feline mortal swung again only to be pierced with the end of the Altmer’s sword. He died instantly.

‘Who is that?’ The words fell like a whimper.

‘Aridiil the Nefarious,’ Milkar answered. ‘A captain in the Tam’Akar.’

‘Aridiil?’

Milkar nodded. ‘Look at him, Leila. Remember who he is. Remember what he’s done here.

Sure enough, I’d recognized the name. Only if you’d been living under a rock, you wouldn’t have heard the name Aridiil the Nefarious. One of Mother’s comrades, the Altmer who stood at her side one hundred and forty years ago. My mother was apart of a group of seven powerful warriors that the people called the Circle of Seven. During the Oblivion Crisis, these seven warriors were brave enough to lead the remaining Ranger Guard and others against the horde of Daedra that invaded Valenwood. Mother, Father, Tutor Rollyn, and Aridiil are the only survivors of the Circle of Seven. After the closing of the Oblivion gates, Mother and Father married, and the others went their separate ways.

But the stories of the past diminish in the eyes of the future.

These were different times, and I am not my mother or my father, nor am I my tutor.

Milkar didn’t want to leave, so I looked on as the Khajiit that populated this camp died and withered back into the forest. Dozens burning in the passing of a minute. Aridiil the Nefarious lived up to his name. The simple casting of a few spells took the lives of these Beastfolk as if they were simple insects caught in a storm. The anger swelled in thinking that these Thalmor monsters were the ones sitting on the throne in Falinesti. They violated all of what it means to live in Valenwood. I would not have any of it.

The need to leave left me entirely. Fear washing away and replaced with adrenaline and a want to do something quick.

Milkar brought me here to steal information on my target, but now I feel as if it were just a setup. A set up to witness this.

‘I get it now,’ I said drawing my hood over my head, masking my face in its darkness. ‘This is the Tam’Akar you wanted me to see?’

Milkar nodded. ‘These are the people who purged Elren’s clan. There is something dark going on in Valenwood. No one will ever know what’s happening, and the people in charge will deny all accounts.’ He bit his lip. ‘If we can’t rely on the people sworn to protect us, then we must light a stronger fire against the winds that threaten us, our culture, and our roots.’

I’ve grown used to this new air around Milkar since that night Elren brought before him. Two months of him teaching me a new view of the world I lived in. This was his resolve in full force. It was an epiphany of sorts that made me realize who I’d need to be. Mother was the eagle the flew in the sun, and I was the raven that ushered in the night.

Aridiil raised his hand, a swirling mass of magicka swimming at the palm. Debris raised in the air at the command of his power and dropped away from the sleeping mer that was my target. The rag soaked with _resting tonic_ fell away, waking him. He was an old thing with wrinkles dressing his red face and streaks of grey running through his brown locks. His eyes were a smoky green, the color of grass labeled with the morning dew. He was a tall one but puny. He cowered away from Aridiil’s approach, crawling back on his arse towards Milkar and me. Mud had caked him by the time Aridiil stood in front of him, pressing his daedric sword to his face.

‘We can’t let him die,’ Milkar said. ‘But we can’t reveal ourselves to him. Father and Aridiil might not be friends anymore, but they still fight for the same side.’

‘So, we just sit here and do nothing?’

Milkar’s eyes wandered up towards the tree adjacent to the one over us. He knew something I didn’t; he saw something coming.

My breath caught in my throat. I’d almost forgot that I’d seen him here before the excitement crashed the job. I trailed my eyes up the shining bark of the tree only to find a gleaming line flashing from shadows. The luminescent forest formed his tallness with a shadow, but for sure, Tutor Rollyn had been watching the whole thing play out.

Aridiil’s smile was something sinister; an affront to his smooth face. The Altmer didn’t seem like he grew old, his eyes were as yellow as sulfur and as sharp as glass. The High Elves lived longer than Bosmer, so their bodies aged slower. One hundred and forty years ago, he must have looked my age. But even so, I knew I stared into the eyes of evil. ‘Ah. I knew you would be here, Augoth Thornbush. ‘Aridiil said. ‘I’ve been looking for quite some time.’

‘Leave me alone!’ The cowardly Bosmer squeaked. ‘I don’t have anything to do with that man anymore, I’m innocent!’

‘I will be the judge of that.’ Aridiil chuckled. ‘You’re wanted for treason against the Dominion and creating forbidden weapons.’

The old mer cried in the mud. ‘It’s not as if I had a choice! I was forced to work. Please!’

‘I’m afraid that just isn’t going to cut—’

‘I don’t know what this is all about, but I do know that killing innocents will not hold over well with the Countreeve or the Silvenar.’ A voice from behind. Rollyn finally arrived. ‘Step back.’

‘Rollyn the Special,’ Aridiil said, turning to face my old tutor. ‘It’s been a long time, friend.’

‘We were comrades, Aridiil, but we were never friends. I didn’t like you one bit.’

‘Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?’ Aridiil sheathed his sword.

Rollyn scanned the camp, seeing the charred dead scattered about. Survivors had either fled or were hiding for the right time to seek their loved one’s bodies.

‘This is horrible, Aridiil. These people didn’t deserve this.’

‘I could count half a dozen crimes within the first few moments of coming here,’ Aridiil shrugged. ‘There are no lawbreakers allowed in a Dominion controlled Valenwood. The time for lawlessness is over.’

‘The Tam’Akar worked with the same people this man is fleeing from. He is _my_ client, and I won’t allow you to harm him.’ Tutor Rollyn slid his quarterstaff down his arm and into his hands.

‘You would fight me?’ Aridiil smirked, but his eyes narrowed into something sinister. ‘You know the implications.’

‘You don’t scare me, Aridiil. None of you Altmer murderers do.’ Rollyn twirled his quarterstaff and fell into his fighting stance. A stance that I knew all too well.

Tutor Rollyn is the greatest fighter I’ve ever witnessed. During our adventures over the years, I have seen him beat down countless enemies. He had no equal. But something seemed wrong, there was hesitation in his step. Perhaps fighting a comrade would make it difficult.

‘Are they going to fight?’ I asked my brother.

‘That doesn’t matter.’ Milkar pointed towards the other Bosmer hiding behind the underbrush. ‘What did you grab from him?’

‘This.’ I produced the small booklet from my pocket.

Milkar took the thing with an analyzing eye. His face fell into disappointment when he finished.

‘What is it?’

‘We need to speak with Augoth Thornbush...but...’ He looked back at the fight.

Tutor Rollyn stood before Aridiil in his fighting stance. Rollyn was the master at every weapon known to Nirn. Tutor Rollyn mastered every sword and every style of combat.

The rush was quicker than sound. A loud crack whipped above the storm’s roar as Rollyn’s gleaming quarter staff connected with Aridiil’s sword which I didn’t see him draw again. The next couple of counters were too quick. My mind couldn’t process a fight at this level. These two were powerful and skilled enough to fight by my Mother’s side during the Oblivion Crisis.

Rollyn ducked under a series of slashes forced out by Aridiil, came up with the speed of a young warrior instead of an old man and kicked Aridiil squarely in his chest. The Altmer stumbled back, slipping in the mud but managing to correct himself before Rollyn’s next attack could take his life. Aridiil lit his free hand with the blue hue of lightning destruction magic. The tendrils of energy crackled with unavoidable speeds, attracting to a world soaked with water. If Rollyn was a master at weapons, then Aridiil was a master at destruction magic. His command over magicka knew no bounds—the best I’ve ever seen.

Rollyn managed to handle the first blast of the _Lightning Storm_ spell with his quarterstaff. The thing spun in a blur of gleaming moonstone, deflecting the power in all directions. Rollyn took the opportunity granted to him by the spell’s charge time to counter. He was careful; he had to be. _Lightning Storm_ was a spell that can turn a mortal into a pile of ash at the beat of a heart. Rollyn smacked his staff into Aridiil’s ribcage, sending him careening across the mud into a pile of burning debris. The impact must have broken the Altmer’s bones, but I couldn’t say for sure.

‘Get out of there,’ I whispered. ‘Please.’

Aridiil emerged in a blast of unbridled magicka, sending mud scattering about. The Tam’Akar inquisitor was unharmed. The rain fell on him in waterfalls from the gathered pools above.

‘Don’t fuck with me, Rollyn. There are things bigger than your pride. For the safety of your province, I must see to the death—’

‘Enough of your warped righteousness.’

Milkar pulled my face away from the sight, but I didn’t want to look away. I didn’t know how I felt about my old tutor fighting such a being. Whether I cared about Rollyn dying or not was different. I didn’t like Tutor Rollyn, in fact, I never liked him during the years we ventured into the world together. But he was more of a father than my own. He taught me so much of the world and as much as I disliked him, it was never hate that I felt. I didn’t want to see him die.

‘We have to go,’ Milkar said.

‘Wait, we can’t...Rollyn.’

‘We can’t stay, Leila.’

‘But—’

‘Look.’ Milkar pointed.

The man that we came here for had fled into the forest. His blackened form pushed into the dull glow of the trees and brush.

‘You go! Let me stay. I can help Rollyn.’ I pleaded.

‘Leila.’

‘Go!’ I pushed Milkar away.

Milkar sighed. ‘Don’t let them see your face... and don’t die.’

I pulled my cowl over the lower half of my face and nodded towards my brother. He left me with a touch on the shoulder and went after the old elf.

Rollyn was deflecting lightning blasts with his quarterstaff. Magicka can be fought with highly effective deflection, but once you tire, your chances of survival are slim. It occurred to me why Aridiil was known as “the Nefarious,” but that wouldn’t stop me. I met my match many times out there in the forest, but I’ve always managed to overcome it with Tutor Rollyn’s help. He may have been a bastard, but he was there for me. I will be there for him.

I took my first step. Each one along the way, the dread in me only grew. I clasped the dagger Milkar had given me until my knuckles grew white. My head felt light, and I wondered if I made a mistake. Not just running towards two mortals that can kill me in the blink of an eye but following my brother’s way into the shadows. My feet sloshed in the mud despite me trying to mask my approach.

Aridiil raised his hand to send another _Lightning Storm_. I took my dagger, point shining, and slashed at the Altmer’s wrist. Blood splattered across my face as Aridiil reeled back, dropping his sword, and holding his hand.

I twirled the blade in my hand, changing from to an overhand to an underhand grip.

‘Who—’

‘Never mind it,’ I said, balancing myself in the mud.

‘What in the Oblivion have you done?’ Aridiil hissed. ‘I’ll burn you to ash!’

Rollyn leaped, not allowing the chance to escape him. The end of his quarterstaff came straight down onto Aridiil. The sound of breaking glass echoed out like needles thrown to marble floor. A blue pane of energy formed amid the clash, deflecting Rollyn’s staff as if he hit nothing. I gulped and darted in for another attack. This time I aimed to open his throat.

With all of Tutor Rollyn’s teachings, I pounced like a cat and jabbed my dagger into his _ward_. I jumped off, leaving my dagger embedded in the shield’s defense. Rollyn followed suit, hopping in midair and kicking the dagger further into the _ward_. This sent Aridiil careening. Spiderweb cracks expanded across the blue energy like a thrown stone to a window.

‘Do it!’ Rollyn called.

My Tutor tossed me his quarterstaff and knelt. I took the thing twirling it with its weight and hopped onto his lowered back. He propelled upward as I leaped as hard as my legs could allow me. I flew into the air, quarterstaff raised and brought it down onto the dagger’s pommel. Aridiil’s _ward_ shattered away, first like broken glass, then disappeared into nothingness. The dagger skidded away into the mud.

Still bleeding, Aridiil raised his hand in the air which put a pause on Rollyn’s approach.

‘Enough of this!’ Aridiil’s entire body began to spark with lightning.

‘Get back!’ Rollyn called out. I heeded his warning.

Tendrils of lightning thicker than my body ravaged across the expanse of the camp, leaving snaking black marks across the mud. Golden coils of magicka sowed his wound shut, and it disappeared as if it was never there. The lightning kept striking here and there, causing the stricken ground to sizzle and blacken with heat. I curled up behind a root wall until it was suddenly obliterated by Aridiil’s lightning. In the wake of the destruction, stood an angry Altmer, his power overflowing.

Since the beginning of his fight with Rollyn, Aridiil has sent master spell after master spell ceaselessly. To do so would require a vast amount of magicka unheard of even in the magically attuned Altmer. This was what it meant to do battle with the warriors of the Seven. Rollyn showed me only some of the caliber needed. But in a death battle with one of the strongest mages I have ever seen, I didn’t think it would be this desperate.

How? How was Mother stronger than these people? How was this considered a mortal’s power?

I filled my lungs with my last breath as I stared into the yellow eyes of the Void. Those evil pupils overtook me in a trance. This was the end for me.

He raised his hand, and my world crackled like lightning.


End file.
